


Somebody Else's Boy

by ninhursag



Series: Michael Guerin Week 2019 [5]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Child Abuse, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Internalized Victim Blaming, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Sexual Abuse, Taking advantage of a vulnerable person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 14:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: The sexual experiences of one Michael Guerin, before he met the love of his life.





	Somebody Else's Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags. This is not a happy story and the warnings are there for a reason.
> 
> Sort of went of course from Michael Guerin day five but here you go.

The first time he's too young, way too young. Everything is still loud and he's ripped up, fingers twitching and language not right on his tongue.

The others, the ones he clung to in the dark were gone, taken away from him, and he was here in this strange place. There was a dark bed, a thin mattress and hands and he screamed for-- where was she-- fair, soft hair and gentle hands and safe. Where was-- why was he alone?

The memories don't form right, he doesn't have the language to shape them with when it happens, and that's ok. He's grateful for it. He just remembers it as the moment he understood he was absolutely alone.

And somewhere, though he didn't know it, an already old looking woman in a small dark cell who hadn't spoken in decades started screaming. She screamed and screamed and screamed until the guards came, until they knocked her unconscious. She woke up and screamed again. Begged, wailing in a language no one spoke.

They cut her vocal cords, eventually, and that got her quiet.

/

When he's fourteen, there's a woman from Mrs. Evan's bridge club.

It's a lame ass cliche, he mows her lawn with his shirt tied around his waist, she invites him in for lemonade. 

She smells like perfume and fancy booze, a lot nicer than what his current fosters drink, or the woman at the group home he bounces to when he's between family placements. Her neck is soft, papery, the skin hanging just a little loose.

It feels weird, when she kisses him. "Mmmm," she says, "yummy. You are a snack and a half."

It feels weirder when she's naked. Not, like, bad. He comes, he comes really fast actually.

She laughs at that and rebuttons herself and gives him a shot of really smooth vodka in his lemonade and an extra fifty bucks than she'd promised for the lawn.

His foster dad gave him a high five after, and laughed his ass off.

//

Adrienne Richards from the group home when they were both in the eighth grade was the first girl his own age. She wore jeans she'd gotten on a five finger discount and red lipstick she applied just for the occasion.

It was after midnight in the bathroom, the faint smell of bleach and piss. She was practiced and sharp faced. "You've done this before?" She asked and he smirked.

"Hell yeah," he said.

"Me too," she breathed. She left little half moon imprints with her fingernails in his shoulders. 

He came too fast the first time and noticed the quickly suppressed look that might have been disappointment or annoyance.

"That was good," she told him anyway, after she smoothed the mini expression away.

He rolled his eyes at her and she pursed her lips. The lipstick that had been on them was a smear of red but her eye makeup still looked the same, so she hasn't cried at least.

Still. "Yeah no. You're lying."

"Well. It didn't hurt," she conceded. "I mean. It was like, almost good. Just not…"

He rolled over and looked at her, consideringly. "Ok, so, I could finish you? With my hands?"

She frowned. "Um, yeah, if you want to? Really?"

"Yeah. Of course." He nodded and leaned back to consider her spread legs and her knees and how to go about doing this. Logistics, right? 

She was nervous at first, more than she'd been about him sticking his dick in her, moving on sheer bravado, but eventually he got her to smile by telling a bunch of corny jokes Max and Isobel's dad had printed off the internet. That was easier.

They went a few more times before he got any good at making her come. 

Never got caught screwing, but then her asshole dad got killed in a high speed chase on the interstate when he was gun running. No loss as far as Michael was concerned, but Adrienne wept like he was a prize that had actually ever wanted her, red eyed and broken. 

So Michael hugged her on her bed, of course he did, rubbing her skinny shoulders and saying, "hey, hey, I've got you," or some other bullshit. 

And that? Got them caught and both written up for acting out sexually.

"Well, that's it for family placements," his case worker told him with a shrug that he couldn't tell was supposed to be sympathetic or bored. "Teenagers with that on their file aren't exactly a hot commodity for foster parents."

"Whatever," he replied with a sullen eyeroll. "We weren't even doing anything."

She just sighed. "You were embracing on a bed with the door closed. It was in the admissions contract you signed."

"Whatever," he repeated. Group homes were becoming more common anyway. It wasn't like they were worse.

///

There were other girls after that, like a floodgate had opened-- mostly friends of Isobel who wanted to slum it while their parents were away. Sometimes their moms on the down low. He had a reputation for being good in bed and careful. 

A couple of times it was their dads, if there was something in it for him, even lower and darker, locked rooms on his knees.

He got the title to his truck, the first thing that was his, out of those hushed in and outs so he didn't care.

"You're a fickle, disreputable creature," Max told him with a heavenward glance while pushing Michael his fries.

"Thank you, Tolstoy," Michael sneered. "I sure am."

"Dostoyevsky," Max replied, rolling his eyes. 

Michael ate the fries.

It didn't matter though, none of it did, because then he spotted-- or was spotted by-- Alex Manes.

He'd seen him before, obviously. But this was different.

It wasn't a complicated story. Boy met boy. Boy realized that the weird feeling of twisting interest that women directed at him sometimes (that men directed more rarely) was something he could feel too. About someone else.

He could want. That existed for him.

It was a revelation, that this was real. That the brush of cool human palms on his cheeks could bring him to his knees.

"Have you ever done this before?" Alex asked, before they got anywhere beyond kissing.

And Michael shrugged. "Yeah, but not. Not with--"

"A guy?" Alex's hesitance almost made him tell the truth, but he didn't need to ruin this yet.

"Yeah, but. And…" and it came out in a rush. "Not with someone I've liked, as much as I like you."

Actually, Alex was the first time. Dark eyes and a shy, careful smile, knees spread in dim light and laughing like it was a revelation.

He was going to remember it that way.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry?


End file.
